


intended

by sythlar



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, allura is enthusiastic, shiro is shy, they're cute idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8638417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sythlar/pseuds/sythlar
Summary: they bang, my dudes





	

Shiro had been hesitant to spar with a shapeshifter.

“It would do me no good to train in a non native form,” Allura pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and Shiro couldn’t disagree with that. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to fight her at all. Was it fear? he wondered. It made no sense for him to be afraid now when he had no qualms about flying an alien ship directly into enemy territory on a daily basis.

So he ignored his misgivings and faced her (she was so much smaller in her Altean form, and yet still twice as strong as she should be) in the practice arena, one night after everyone had gone to bed. They always stayed awake later than the others. Side effect of Galra imprisonment, Shiro figured; sleep didn’t come easy afterwards.

She fought with a slim staff, about as long as she was tall. It seemed simple enough, but when she began to move towards him he realized it was lethal, his hand barely quick enough to come to his defense.

Minutes dripped by slowly, blood pounding in Shiro’s ears. His limbs recalled days his mind had given up, and they moved with their own private knowledge; he had long since learned not to question them, but to trust them entirely to do what they knew best.

It wasn’t until Allura hit his calves with a low sweep and he hit the floor, air rushing out of his lungs in a long and pitiful wheeze, that he realized his body remembered more than how to keep him alive. The princess’ sweat-drenched hair had come loose from its bonds, a wavy strand touching his face with the gentle luminescence of moonlight, as she knelt over him, staff to his throat. In the sliver of time between his defeat and her retreat, a half-memory came to him unbidden, and in his trusting frame of mind he let his body do what it thought was right.

He groaned, and his hips bucked upwards.

His face was burning with shame.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, cold air leaving his chest feeling tight and fearful.

She pulled her staff away with a practiced, elegant twist of her wrist. Her expression was unreadable, flat.

“I don’t know what happened,” he stammered.

She extended her hand down to him, clasped his, drew him to his feet.

He looked down at her, standing only a hand’s breadth away from him. God, she was beautiful in every way. She was kind. Strong. Noble. Brave. “I don’t even remember–when I–where I–”

Her white brows rose, just the slightest bit, but he saw them.

“Some memories from before the Galra are gone, too,” he said, hoarse. “I should have controlled myself.” Speak, please speak, he thought. Say anything.

“I think I understand,” she said quietly. “I was only their prisoner for a week, and even in that short time, they took so much from me.”

He swallowed convulsively. Memories of her long-dead homeland; what did his problems mean in the face of hers?

“You did nothing wrong.” She reached up to touch his face, long, elegant, dark fingers brushing across the bridge of his nose. Tracing his scar, he realized. They both waited, as if expecting the other to shy away from the touch.

Neither did.

She slipped her other hand behind his neck, drawing him down. The touch of her lips was like a balm, spreading warmth through his body; and though he knew she was strong, so strong, she was being so gentle with him. _If this is a dream, let me never wake._

“What do you remember?” she whispered, lips brushing the outer shell of his ear. “Was it back on your homeworld? Did you start your courting ritual by sparring?”

He was thankful his blush was hidden over her shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“You liked being on your back.” Her words were so faint, he could barely make them out over the hum of the life support systems. “With me on top.”

Oh, God. “Yeah,” he breathed.

“Would you like to try it again?”

Surely that’s not what she meant. “The–sparring?”

“No.” She intertwined their fingers, pulling his hands down her sides, shifting her hips beneath them as she moved her weight from one foot to the other. “Would you like to try spending the night with me?”

“Princess,” he said softly. “I’m not worthy.”

“You’re the black paladin,” she murmured, as if that meant anything.

“Yes…?”

“The Black Paladins have always been the intended mates of Altean royalty, until the last,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “When he betrayed my father, that tradition was no longer...Shiro, didn’t you know? Didn’t the lion tell you?”

“No,” he said, reeling. “I didn’t know. Did you–you must have known when–”

“When we discussed the other lions, and I predicted the black would choose you? Yes, of course I knew then. You were the obvious leader, Shiro. You were the one.”

And yet she’d made the judgement without hesitation, without fear of what it meant for her personal life. “Shouldn’t you choose your lover or, um, mate, or spouse–shouldn’t you choose the person yourself? What if the black lion chose someone you didn’t like in that way?”

She shrugged. “It didn’t.”

It didn’t.

“You want to be with me?” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears, rough with suppressed feeling.

“I do,” she whispered. “Very much.”

“Princess, I’m a broken man.” Who knew what memories would surface in an intimate moment? What if he lashed out in fear? “I was attractive once, but–”

She put her fingers on his lips, and he could no longer speak, obedient to her by mingled reflex and affection. “I know who you are. Shiro, I…”

He kissed her fingertips.

She shivered, bit her lip. Her eyes were wide and blue as the sky.

It was the first sign of delight she’d betrayed, and Shiro could feel himself respond, body and heart acting as one.

“Please be with me. Just for tonight. If you don’t like it, we never have to do it again,” she whispered.

_If I don’t like it?_

It was impossible to even consider refusing her. She led him through the castle’s silent corridors to her bedroom, with its vaulted ceilings and intricately carved bed. The door shut behind them, and she whipped him around, pushing him up against it.

“You don’t need to remember anything,” she promised. “I’ve studied human coitus. Lance and Keith had some educational vids in–”

Oh God, no, he couldn’t know that. “Those aren’t educational,” he mumbled.

“No, they weren’t very helpful,” she agreed. “Most only included males. I was beginning to worry that our anatomical differences were–”

“Please don’t tell me what they look at,” Shiro begged.

Allura looked taken aback. “Oh, alright. I just wanted you to know that between the vids and the simulator courses, I can lead us.”

Simulator? No. Tonight was already too confusing. He didn’t want to know.

She led him over to the bed, unzipping her flight suit with her usual methodical grace. It slipped from her lithe, muscular form with ease, leaving Shiro breathlessly taking in every detail, eyes catching on little freckles and imperfections he knew would soon be familiar. She slipped off her underwear next, revealing dusky nipples and a narrow strip of white hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Now you,” she suggested gently.

His hands shook, and he wasn’t sure if it was with desire or fear or nerves or some confusing mixture of the three. His chest was covered in ugly scars, some of them puffy, some hyperpigmented, some puckered. Without medical care in the arena, It seemed like nothing had ever healed quite right. He stopped and looked up when the zipper was open to his waist, afraid he’d see her flinching away from the unflattering sight.

She was biting her lip again, gnawing on it. “More?” She whispered.

He shrugged the down from his shoulders and unzipped to his knee, kicking it off. The way her eyes were raking over his body, his underwear was tented outward already. He flushed.

She reached out, brushed her hand down between his pecs, over his abs, through the trough-like scar left by some enemy’s weapon. “And more?” She asked again.

He had to look away when he took off his boxers.

“You’re so shy.” Allura’s voice wasn’t mocking or unkind, as it had every right to be; only amused. “You don’t need to be nervous around me, Shiro. We’re intended for each other, and this is perfectly natural.”

He swallowed, nodded. “As you say, Princess.”

“Allura.” He could hear the smile in her voice without looking. Gentle fingertips brushed his cheek, guided his gaze to her as she took a step closer, their bodies so close he could feel her heat. “Call me Allura.”

“Allura.” The lump in his throat wouldn’t subside.

“You’re very formal when you’re nervous,” she whispered. Her tongue caressed each syllable before it fell from her lips. “What can I do to make you relax?”

If it was a rhetorical question, he didn’t realize it right away. “I--”

And though he was afraid of what would happen, of hurting her, of _disrespecting_ her, he had to look down when he felt her breath wash over him, had to watch as her lips enveloped his cock and she _sucked_.

He groaned, low and plaintive.

“Mmmmh.” Her mouth still wrapped around him, she looked up to meet his gaze. He was shocked his eyes still worked to see her, that his legs still worked to prop him up as he leaned heavily on the edge of the bed. It felt so fucking _incredible_ his knees shook.

Slipping his fingers into her hair, he carded through the white locks, amazed. Her tongue and cheeks were doing something he didn’t quite understand, but which buoyed him up and up and up, told his body to grind forward--which he ignored.

She pulled back, the head sliding from her mouth with a pop of lost suction. “Shiro? You look overexerted. Should I stop?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, please. I--I just--” He sighed. “Ever since I became a paladin, I’ve learned to trust my body to tell me what to do, and now I’m trying to do the opposite and have some control.”

“Why?” Leaning forward, Allura’s lips formed a perfect pucker and kissed him, just beneath the head on the underside of the shaft. He wished he could crystallize the moment and save it forever. “You won’t break me,” she teased him gently. “I’m stronger than you, remember? Trust yourself.”

He nodded again, slowly. _I can try._

Her tongue wrapped around him, and this time, he obeyed her instructions. When his body told him it was _so important_ to slam his hips forward _right now_ , he did. He was rewarded by a long, purring moan from Allura, which only made him want to do it again.

Her hands on his hips held him back, though he thrusted and twisted against her, his shaft twitching with need. Was she intending to tease him?

“Allura,” he rasped again.

This time, there was a long, slick sound when she pulled away, and it felt so good he almost grabbed her hair and pulled her back onto him–but _no_ , he had to know what she was doing now.

“So you liked having me on top of you?” she asked again, bright eyes half-lidded.

“Yes,” he managed to stammer.

Allura put her hand on his chest, fingers splayed, pushing him back onto the bed and straddling him. He could feel her heat as she hovered above him, her hair still a mess, half pinned up and half tumbling down. “Like this?” Her hand, that graceful, gentle hand, wrapped around him, guiding him into her. Her warmth and depth were sublime; he lost his voice, his eyes rolled back, his hips rolled forward and _into_  her.

“Oh, yes, you like that,” she laughed softly, leaning forward to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. Her other hand braced against his chest, and his hands found their way to her hips, holding her against him each time he drove into her, unable to suppress the way he was grunting and groaning shamefully, like an animal.

"Slowly,” she whispered. “Don’t panic. Enjoy yourself.” Her right hand found his left and interlaced their fingers. She was perfection, she was an angel, she was a _princess_. He raised his hand to cup her face, pulling her to him--kissing the pale marks beneath her eyes, kissing her lips--and realizing too late that he’d touched her with _that_  hand, the _Galra_  hand. She deserved better; he pulled it away with a start.

And she caught it, pulled it back. “It’s okay,” she crooned between warm, feather-light kisses that made his heart ache with the very sweetness of her. “It’s part of you.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of her silken hair brushing across his shoulders and chest, her hips rolling against his thrusts, the soft sounds she was making as he gradually worked himself deeper.

“Like that, Shiro,” she murmured. “Like that. I’ve wanted this so long--oh--”

Her voice was winding up to a high pitch, and he couldn’t hold back a moment longer; his eyes snapped open and he cried out, struggling to keep his hips from moving, but it was no use. His body rolled against hers, driving his seed _deep_ inside, unsure if he hurt her with the force of his last thrust.

Before he could ask, she leaned forward, her lips meeting his with a heat unmatched in his patchy memory.

“I guess I didn’t hurt you,” he gasped.

“No,” she breathed, “no, not at all. It felt amazing. Shiro, are _you_  okay? Did you--”

Whatever she was going to ask, he shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m amazing. I don’t remember doing this before, but--I don’t think I need to.”

Her smile was like the sun rising. “Stay with me,” she demanded. “Tonight, at least.”

His head nodded before he’d processed the words. Their bodies were still coupled, their combined fluids running down his shaft and onto his thighs, and he could barely _think._  “Yeah. Yes. Yes, Princess. Anything you want.”

“Oh, good,” she grinned, heaving a pleased sigh. “Because there are a _lot_  of things I want to try with you.”


End file.
